


arm wrestling

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Arm Wrestling, F/M, Fluff, Foreplay, Post-Series, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: They never did actually arm wrestle, after all. It seems like a waste of an opportunity to not take when she's on her way out of the SGC's doors and his hands itch to hold hers.





	arm wrestling

It’s her last day on base and Jack is feeling more than a little maudlin; fingers already itching to wrap around the neck of a Guinness. He just needs to get through this goodbye party for her and he will be able to breathe again, will be able to lick his wounds in private and remember how to live without Samantha Carter by his side. 

The briefing room is packed with officers and civilians and contractors and everyone who has ever had their life touched and saved by Carter. There’s cups of blue jello and a stack of farewell cards for her and in the middle of it all, she stands tall, blushing under the attention and saying her goodbyes. 

Jack settles into a corner of the room and watches her, eyes never leaving her and the way she hugs airmen goodbye and kisses Daniel on the cheek and promises Teal’c they will grab dinner before anyone says their final goodbyes. 

Her eyes flick to him in the corner, brow furrowed and unsure, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods to the throng of people still behind her, still waiting to say  _thank you_  or  _goodbye_. She offers him a tentative grin and turns back to the last of the SGC teams that have come to say their goodbyes. 

The well-wishers stream steadily out of the briefing room until it’s just Jack and Sam left. She snags a cup of jello from the back table and slides into her usual chair, grinning at him. 

“You gonna sit in the corner all day, sir?” It’s teasing with an undercurrent of challenge, an offering to allow him to step out from the safety of the shadows. 

He pushes himself off the wall, hands jammed in his pockets, and falls into the chair across from her. Beneath the table, their feet touch but neither one moves away. Silence falls upon them and suddenly Jack realizes he doesn’t want to– _can’t_ –say goodbye to her. The words stick in his throat and he leans forward on the table, searching for the right words–any words–to make her stay with him. 

He opens his mouth, terrified and unsure, and then–

“Y’know, you never did take me up on my offer, sir?”

Jack’s eyes snap to hers and he thinks about fierce kisses and a mumbled  _I want you,_ her body pressed against his. He thinks about a woman named Thera taking him by the hand and leading them to her bunk. He thinks about Sam standing in his backyard, hands twisting and a confession on her tongue. 

“W-what offer?” he croaks out, heart beating. 

Sam grins, pushing her empty jello cup to the side and leans in conspiratorially. “Arm wrestling.”

He barks out a laugh, unable to help himself. It’s the last thing he expected from her and somehow that is exactly Samantha Carter: the unexpected. 

And then she’s leaning forward, arm coming up to rest on the table between them, fingers wiggling, her eyes sparking with challenge. His breath catches in his chest. She looks like a fresh-faced Captain determined to earn his respect, his trust. His face softens and he wishes he could tell her that she has all that and more. 

Instead, he rolls his eyes and meets her half-way. “Bring it, Colonel.”

Her hand slips into his, warm and dry, and he takes a moment to appreciate the simplicity of being able to touch her like this. They’re experts, after all, at finding everyday excuses to touch one another. Arm wrestling may be the best one yet. 

Their palms press together, his thumb hooking over hers, and he appreciates the way their hands fit, the way her smaller hand slips into his: intimate, soft, perfect. 

Jack’s eyes meet hers and the spark of challenge has died down, replaced with something soft and gentle. They aren’t moving, simply sitting there and joining hands. His thumb moves first, rubbing softly over the skin of her hand, reaching and stretching until he can caress the inside of her wrist, pulse beating strong beneath the skin. 

He hears her breath hitch and feels her foot beneath the table press more insistently against his, slipping between his feet and brushing over his ankle. 

“I think,” she says, voice no more than whisper. “We’re arm wrestling wrong, sir.”

He tugs their hands down to the table, turning her hand over and tracing the lines of her palm, shaking his head softly and swallowing. “I think for the first time in a long time, we may be doing something right, Sam.”

The use of her first name elicits a sigh and she grips his hand, stopping his exploring fingers. He stills and waits, waits, waits for her. He will always wait for her. 

Sam disentangles their fingers and he tries not to feel hot embarrassment, tries not to immediately feel hurt and rejected for pushing this–whatever they are–onto her on her last day on base. But it stings. He had forgotten what her touch felt like. 

But she stands and walks the few feet around the table and takes his hand in hers, tugging him up out of his usual chair. His breath is steady and still and does nothing to bely the racing of his heart or the eruption of butterflies in his stomach. Sam is touching him, standing before him and peering up at him from beneath thick eyelashes, pink tongue flashing from beneath parted lips. 

“I  _think_  I have a book on this, sir.” 

He blinks, waiting for his brain to process the meaning of her words. 

“A book? Carter, I don’t think a book can–”

“A book on the rules of arm wrestling,” she interrupts, grinning. She laces their fingers together and tugs once more, leading them back towards the door and out the base. “The thing is, the book is in my personal library. At home.”

She’s still tugging him backwards and he’s willingly following, brain finally catching up with what she’s saying, what she’s implying. 

He grins happily at her, tightening his hold on her hand and he will never, ever be sick of touching her like this–simple and domestic and intimate. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to break any arm wrestling rules, would we, Carter?”

She stops at the entry way and flicks the lights off to the briefing room–the last time she will be there for quite some time–and reaches up to touch his cheek, briefly. 

“No, sir, we wouldn’t want that at all.”

They leave the base together, hands alternately entwining and dropping as they approach various personnel on base, but their shoulders stay pressed together–magnets unable to part. 

Later, tangled in her sheets, their hands once more twined together, Jack’s leg pressed between her thighs and Sam’s head pillowed on his shoulder, he laughs, kissing her bare shoulder. 

“If I had known  _this_  is what you meant by arm wrestling….”


End file.
